Hi World.
Hold on to your hats. I'm about to reveal things. This is not normally something I do. I'm a chicken, remember? However, I've been praying to the Portuguese neighbor's Aquamarine Virgin on a Half Shell and leaving her extra things along with her pina coladas, like pineapples and Don Ho CDs, and even recently my favorite Jack Johnson CD because it goes along with my whole Virgin Mary in the tropics theme, and still I have nothing to report but angry neighbors. Bupkis.
My life is not exactly a Paris Hilton memoir. There are no Golden Globe award parties, no E Television worthy anecdotes, no crazy, drunken party stories. Perez Hilton and I do not exchange in witty, insulting repartee. This means that when looking for blog material I have to rely on current events, the rare adventure, memories, and whatever the hell I can make up.
Or I could tell you something about myself, aye?
I am, I think, fairly self-deprecating. In fact, the idea for this blog is based on my experience this evening of getting lost on the way to a networking event because I could not read the small font directions in my car at 50 MPH without my glasses, which I did not have, and missed the exit and ended up in South Providence, finally finding my way home after an hour and a half of driving around refusing to admit I was lost and wondering whether sharing this experience with my co-workers, which I would usually do, is a good idea. Should I just say I didn't go because I had a very important date? A last minute appointment? A red-phone call from Obama?
I have moments of conceit and self-delusion, sure, but on the whole, I make fun of myself. I am honest about my failures and downplay my accomplishments. I submit as piece of evidence number one my recent "Stupid Things I Have Done" post. I thought it was funny-but I wonder-did it make people uncomfortable? Is this wise?
I had a recent epiphany that making fun of myself might come off to others as, at best, a lack of self confidence, and at worst, a total admission that I am a moron. Actually, this is not a recent epiphany. It's an old epiphany brought about when a therapist I saw briefly stopped laughing at my one liners. This was very difficult for me. Here I was paying this woman quite handsomely to be the one-person audience to my very special stand-up routine (or lie down routine, more like) and she couldn't even laugh? It was very quiet in there with her not laughing and me not revealing. And when it gets too quiet, all the voices in my head become a lot more audible. And this makes me very uncomfortable which I was totally not about to keep paying for. Finally, the therapist and I, well mostly I, decided I was much better adjusted and parted ways. I took my voices out for coffee and we decided that therapy is fine for some people who really need it, but our voices are harmless.
Huh? Where am I? Did I wander off again?
See? See what I do? I'm making fun of myself again. And I, World, might need to do something about that soon. So I am watching and I am taking notes.
I notice that people who are supremely confident, with or without good reason, seem to not laugh at themselves overly much. Everything they do is a miracle. Every conversation they have results in results. When the person is very competent they have every reason to be self confident. The people who fascinate me, though, are the people who are incompetent, but are so self confident no one ever catches on. I mean, they may not know their ass from their elbow but just saying they know their ass, and all of their ass's best friends, not to mention the possibilities indicated by their ass's association with their elbow's connections, seems to inspire confidence in other people.
Now,I do pretty much know my ass from my elbow,thank you very much, but if someone asked, "Hey Chicken, do you know your Ass or Elbow?" I would most likely respond with "Well, I think I might have met them once or twice but we don't have a close relationship. I think my foot might know my ass, though. I'll ask my mouth. Cause my foot and my mouth are also tight." And then I would probably start laughing. That is what I do. And meanwhile, the person who doesn't know their ass from their elbow but was smart enough not to reveal that, is sent over to give me some coaching on discerning one's ass from one's elbow.
I am not sure that I can change my basic nature, but since I've never heard of anyone being voted Class Clown AND Most Likely to Succeed, maybe it is time to put a lid on the one liners and start to take myself more seriously. What do you think? Comments? Suggestions?
And that, my friends, ends my post. Next time we'll talk about narcissistic bloggers. It's always about them, isn't it?
BTW, while I was driving around tonight I made a couple of really great connections that will certainly deliver huge results. I gave a dollar to a homeless guy on Prairie Avenue and I know it is going to pay off. Big. Soon.
Take care, World,
Chicken
P.S. I claim the right not to be serious here. Here I get to be as silly as I want. If you are maybe hoping for a political debate next visit, you'd better go check out Rush Limbaugh's site. Talk about your basic blowhard:-) Also, I just remembered it is GG's Birthday. Happy Birthday Green Girl! Hugs and Kisses.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Funerals and Observations
Hi World, it has been awhile.
So...remember when I said that my resolution for 2010 was to, among other things, spend more time with family and attend a church supper? As the old adage goes, be careful what you wish for.
Last weekend I got the news that my Uncle Sonny had died. This was not overwhelming or traumatic news for me as I had not seen him for quite a few years, but he was my Mother's brother and for her it was heartbreaking. It reminded me of something my parents used to say: One day you will have only your sisters and brothers so don't fight. And that reminded me of something I read once: One day, there will be just you and your sisters and brothers, and then there will be one less, and you will all go to the funeral, and then one less...etc. ...so don't fight. I guess the trick is being among the first to go because holy smokes how depressing is that?
I wanted to be there for my Mother through a difficult time, so I took time off. The service was held in a small Baptist church in Hudson, NH. I estimated, in the ruthless corporate manner to which I've become accustomed, that the Baptist service, burial, and reception would take about 1/2 the time of a Catholic funeral and 1/3 the time of an Irish Catholic funeral (actually, I don't even estimate the time of an Irish Catholic funeral, I just sign off for the day). With these calculations in mind, I figured I'd be on the road home again and able to take calls at approximatley 1 PM.
I'm being callous, I know, but I think this is the world many of us live in. Your time is divided up into 15 minute increments. Anyway, I made it to the simple little church, freezing, with it's curved wooden pews, with all of my long lost cousins sitting in the curved wooden pews, grieving for someone lost to them, and a part of my childhood came back. There was Aunt Nonnie, but then I saw Aunt Nonnie in the other pew and realized that, d'uh. twenty years had passed in the blink of an eye, and I was actually looking at Aunt Nonnie's daughter, Beverly. Then I saw Brian who looked exactly like his Dad as I remembered him. I saw all of the cousins, and their children and THEIR cute little babies, and it hit home, God, I'm getting a little bit old here. Chicken is old, yes indeedy. The service continued with far too many words from the minister and although there were plenty of hymns, they weren't the ones I liked (meaning they weren't the ones I knew the words to and could sing loudly and off key). Various children, friends and grandchildren got up to honor Uncle Sonny with their words or music.
My Mother got up to read something she had written. And I saw her. Not as the strong Mother of my youth or the friend and confidant of my adulthood, but as a sister. I saw her grief, her love for her brother, and most disconcerting, I saw that she was smaller and more fragile. I saw her bravery and her stoic New England upbringing, forthright and honest, but with humor and a little lesson. (the lesson being that we all have something to offer-we are all a work of art. Have I ever mentioned my Mother was a teacher? Lucky the child that sat in her classroom).
I saw that the time was drawing near when the child becomes the parent of the parent, offering comfort and encouragement, and whoa, that is a scary moment. As the procession proceeded to the cemetery, I saw the words posted on the church sign out front. You know what I'm talking about right, those signs with the interchangeable letters so that the message can be updated as needed? It said, "Compassion for the parent is the true sign of maturity". It was a good message for the day. Uncle Sonny had six kids. Okay, so I got a little something out of it, too.
We went to the cemetery, with Uncle Sonny's antique pick up truck, lovingly restored, leading the way, driven by his grandson, Tim. We laid him to rest in the freezing cold and headed back to the church for "refreshments". For those who are close to the deceased in any funeral, God bless them. I always think how hard it must be to leave a loved one alone in the graveyard, soon to be buried, as you head head back to a celebration of their life here on earth. If you have God in your heart, I guess you assume they are coming right along with you to listen in and share a good laugh, but if you are a little bit agnostic, you might be thinking it just doesn't seem right to leave them out.
At the church, in the basement, where all the best Church suppers are held, the mood was much lighter and as the ladies of the congregation served up finger sandwiches and casseroles, we socialized and remembered Uncle Sonny. There was punch. My mother commented that it was very good punch and she wondered what was in it. I told her it was vodka. She (a teetotaler at the most raucous of events) said she thought, that in that case, she might have another cup. And Aunt Olive thought maybe she would join her.
There were photos from years ago. There were family secrets partially revealed (what really did happen on that family vacation to Nova Scotia, anyway?). There were a lot of stories and the babies were paraded and fawned over. Relationships with long lost cousins were renewed. A family reunion was planned. We all got it: Our time here is precious and limited. Family is everything. Everything else is just...every thing else.
I didn't start on the road home until 3 PM. It was a good, long, nostalgic day. As I pulled over on the side of the road to return a couple emails and make a phone call, I hoped that I would not lose the lesson.
I'm raising a glass of Church Punch to you, World. Hope your week did not come with a loss and that your families are well. My mom thinks you are each a Work of Art. So do I.
Take care,
Chicken
So...remember when I said that my resolution for 2010 was to, among other things, spend more time with family and attend a church supper? As the old adage goes, be careful what you wish for.
Last weekend I got the news that my Uncle Sonny had died. This was not overwhelming or traumatic news for me as I had not seen him for quite a few years, but he was my Mother's brother and for her it was heartbreaking. It reminded me of something my parents used to say: One day you will have only your sisters and brothers so don't fight. And that reminded me of something I read once: One day, there will be just you and your sisters and brothers, and then there will be one less, and you will all go to the funeral, and then one less...etc. ...so don't fight. I guess the trick is being among the first to go because holy smokes how depressing is that?
I wanted to be there for my Mother through a difficult time, so I took time off. The service was held in a small Baptist church in Hudson, NH. I estimated, in the ruthless corporate manner to which I've become accustomed, that the Baptist service, burial, and reception would take about 1/2 the time of a Catholic funeral and 1/3 the time of an Irish Catholic funeral (actually, I don't even estimate the time of an Irish Catholic funeral, I just sign off for the day). With these calculations in mind, I figured I'd be on the road home again and able to take calls at approximatley 1 PM.
I'm being callous, I know, but I think this is the world many of us live in. Your time is divided up into 15 minute increments. Anyway, I made it to the simple little church, freezing, with it's curved wooden pews, with all of my long lost cousins sitting in the curved wooden pews, grieving for someone lost to them, and a part of my childhood came back. There was Aunt Nonnie, but then I saw Aunt Nonnie in the other pew and realized that, d'uh. twenty years had passed in the blink of an eye, and I was actually looking at Aunt Nonnie's daughter, Beverly. Then I saw Brian who looked exactly like his Dad as I remembered him. I saw all of the cousins, and their children and THEIR cute little babies, and it hit home, God, I'm getting a little bit old here. Chicken is old, yes indeedy. The service continued with far too many words from the minister and although there were plenty of hymns, they weren't the ones I liked (meaning they weren't the ones I knew the words to and could sing loudly and off key). Various children, friends and grandchildren got up to honor Uncle Sonny with their words or music.
My Mother got up to read something she had written. And I saw her. Not as the strong Mother of my youth or the friend and confidant of my adulthood, but as a sister. I saw her grief, her love for her brother, and most disconcerting, I saw that she was smaller and more fragile. I saw her bravery and her stoic New England upbringing, forthright and honest, but with humor and a little lesson. (the lesson being that we all have something to offer-we are all a work of art. Have I ever mentioned my Mother was a teacher? Lucky the child that sat in her classroom).
I saw that the time was drawing near when the child becomes the parent of the parent, offering comfort and encouragement, and whoa, that is a scary moment. As the procession proceeded to the cemetery, I saw the words posted on the church sign out front. You know what I'm talking about right, those signs with the interchangeable letters so that the message can be updated as needed? It said, "Compassion for the parent is the true sign of maturity". It was a good message for the day. Uncle Sonny had six kids. Okay, so I got a little something out of it, too.
We went to the cemetery, with Uncle Sonny's antique pick up truck, lovingly restored, leading the way, driven by his grandson, Tim. We laid him to rest in the freezing cold and headed back to the church for "refreshments". For those who are close to the deceased in any funeral, God bless them. I always think how hard it must be to leave a loved one alone in the graveyard, soon to be buried, as you head head back to a celebration of their life here on earth. If you have God in your heart, I guess you assume they are coming right along with you to listen in and share a good laugh, but if you are a little bit agnostic, you might be thinking it just doesn't seem right to leave them out.
At the church, in the basement, where all the best Church suppers are held, the mood was much lighter and as the ladies of the congregation served up finger sandwiches and casseroles, we socialized and remembered Uncle Sonny. There was punch. My mother commented that it was very good punch and she wondered what was in it. I told her it was vodka. She (a teetotaler at the most raucous of events) said she thought, that in that case, she might have another cup. And Aunt Olive thought maybe she would join her.
There were photos from years ago. There were family secrets partially revealed (what really did happen on that family vacation to Nova Scotia, anyway?). There were a lot of stories and the babies were paraded and fawned over. Relationships with long lost cousins were renewed. A family reunion was planned. We all got it: Our time here is precious and limited. Family is everything. Everything else is just...every thing else.
I didn't start on the road home until 3 PM. It was a good, long, nostalgic day. As I pulled over on the side of the road to return a couple emails and make a phone call, I hoped that I would not lose the lesson.
I'm raising a glass of Church Punch to you, World. Hope your week did not come with a loss and that your families are well. My mom thinks you are each a Work of Art. So do I.
Take care,
Chicken
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The Obligatory New Year Post
Happy New Year, World
Have you been thinking, hey, it is a New Year and still no post from that blogging Chicken; no resolutions, no look back at 2009, not even one small nod to World Peace?
More likely, you have not been thinking about Chicken at all but have been taking stock of your own life and working on your own list of resolutions.
If you are like certain of Chicken's friends you don't need a list but have one anyway, which you wrote on Dec 1, having finished all the Christmas preparations over the Thanksgiving break. Chicken is in awe of your organizational skills and work ethic.
Or maybe you are scratching your head and wondering how your underwear got all the way up there. Chicken doesn't judge, head scratchers, but you may want to re-think that whole jello shot NYE tradition because what happens in Vegas might stay in Vegas, but what happens elsewhere mostly ends up on Facebook.
Looking back at 2009, I'd like to note that Captain Sully did an excellent job of landing that plane on the Hudson. It is nice to know there are still heroes out there. It is not so nice to know that random flocks of birds can get sucked into a plane's engines and make it crash. I could have gone all my life and not missed knowing that. I'd also like to note that Patrick Swayze seemed like a truly nice guy and his death untimely. RIP, PS. Finally, it seems that going Green became mainstream in 2009 and that was good to see.
As for the rest of 2009, let's not say that I am sticking my head in the sand because I am not that kind of bird, but I am ready to move on. The recession, the unemployment, the fear and uncertainty, poor Michael Jackson and his children, Twitter, Ashton Kutcher, the Cougar movement, toy dogs as fashion accessories, Tiger's drama, Brangelina's brood, Kate & Jon's divorce, Kate's new haircut, Michelle Obama's shoulders....Enough already. This is the Chicken taking a giant step forward. Mother May I PLEASE move on to 2010?
In 2010 I am clipping my wings. Like many of you, perhaps, I want to stay a little closer to home and focus on family and community. I want to make do with what's already mine and consume less. I want to play scrabble, cheer on the home team at a basketball game, throw a pot luck, celebrate a friend's good fortune, write more letters, bake cookies and take long walks. I want to learn to knit those thick, warm mittens my Grandmother used to give every Christmas but hasn't for years because she's been busy being dead. I want to go to a church supper, decorate my Christmas tree with strings of cranberry and popcorn, put out bird seed, drink more cocoa, iron shirts on Sunday nights, and make soup.
I should also learn how to use the I-pod that I begged Santa for this year even going so far as to suggest I needed it earlier than Christmas in order to provide good music on Christmas Eve. Nope, that didn't happen. I am in love with the things gadgets can do but setting them up to do said things is not my forte. But it's on my list.
I hope 2010 is good to you, World, and that you accomplish all those things on your list. A nod to the President. He has his work cut out for him so let's wish him well.
Take care,
Chicken
Have you been thinking, hey, it is a New Year and still no post from that blogging Chicken; no resolutions, no look back at 2009, not even one small nod to World Peace?
More likely, you have not been thinking about Chicken at all but have been taking stock of your own life and working on your own list of resolutions.
If you are like certain of Chicken's friends you don't need a list but have one anyway, which you wrote on Dec 1, having finished all the Christmas preparations over the Thanksgiving break. Chicken is in awe of your organizational skills and work ethic.
Or maybe you are scratching your head and wondering how your underwear got all the way up there. Chicken doesn't judge, head scratchers, but you may want to re-think that whole jello shot NYE tradition because what happens in Vegas might stay in Vegas, but what happens elsewhere mostly ends up on Facebook.
Looking back at 2009, I'd like to note that Captain Sully did an excellent job of landing that plane on the Hudson. It is nice to know there are still heroes out there. It is not so nice to know that random flocks of birds can get sucked into a plane's engines and make it crash. I could have gone all my life and not missed knowing that. I'd also like to note that Patrick Swayze seemed like a truly nice guy and his death untimely. RIP, PS. Finally, it seems that going Green became mainstream in 2009 and that was good to see.
As for the rest of 2009, let's not say that I am sticking my head in the sand because I am not that kind of bird, but I am ready to move on. The recession, the unemployment, the fear and uncertainty, poor Michael Jackson and his children, Twitter, Ashton Kutcher, the Cougar movement, toy dogs as fashion accessories, Tiger's drama, Brangelina's brood, Kate & Jon's divorce, Kate's new haircut, Michelle Obama's shoulders....Enough already. This is the Chicken taking a giant step forward. Mother May I PLEASE move on to 2010?
In 2010 I am clipping my wings. Like many of you, perhaps, I want to stay a little closer to home and focus on family and community. I want to make do with what's already mine and consume less. I want to play scrabble, cheer on the home team at a basketball game, throw a pot luck, celebrate a friend's good fortune, write more letters, bake cookies and take long walks. I want to learn to knit those thick, warm mittens my Grandmother used to give every Christmas but hasn't for years because she's been busy being dead. I want to go to a church supper, decorate my Christmas tree with strings of cranberry and popcorn, put out bird seed, drink more cocoa, iron shirts on Sunday nights, and make soup.
I should also learn how to use the I-pod that I begged Santa for this year even going so far as to suggest I needed it earlier than Christmas in order to provide good music on Christmas Eve. Nope, that didn't happen. I am in love with the things gadgets can do but setting them up to do said things is not my forte. But it's on my list.
I hope 2010 is good to you, World, and that you accomplish all those things on your list. A nod to the President. He has his work cut out for him so let's wish him well.
Take care,
Chicken
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